


A Visit

by LuvEwan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Talky talky talk fic, master/apprentice relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 19:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21276290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuvEwan/pseuds/LuvEwan
Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn has made a mistake with his apprentice. He goes to his old Master, and former Jedi, Count Dooku for advice.





	A Visit

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know when the fuck Dooku left the Order. Let’s just say it was sometime before this story starts.

Qui-Gon Jinn never enjoyed walking the streets of Galactic City late at night. The electric farce, the avarice, the seediness and shadowed transactions. None of it felt resplendent in the Force, and if he had been raised outside the Order, he would have avoided the sprawling metropolis altogether. He preferred trees, the natural glow of stars--and quiet. It was difficult to hear himself think, striding past drunken quarrels and luckless spice addicts. He was reminded of something his former Master used to tell him when he was distracted by ‘lesser beings’ on missions: _you cannot save everyone. _

He had not found that mantra to be resplendent in the Force, either. Long years had passed since he was beholden to Dooku’s teachings, philosophies he disagreed with more than anything. Yet here he was, passing sleek buildings housing the Coruscanti elite, seeking audience with a man Qui-Gon had seen only a handful of times since taking his own Padawan.

_Over a decade_, he realized, incredulous. _We are practically strangers_. Qui-Gon paused outside his destination, a tall, modern apartment building. The guard at the door, finely attired and inconspicuously armed, glanced his way before recognizing the Jedi uniform. They exchanged a nod. Still, Qui-Gon hesitated, closing his eyes, seeking some long-elusive peace. He had been driven from his bed and across the city by a rising tide inside himself. For months, he existed on the fringes of reality, ignoring the Force’s warnings, the misgivings blaring from his conscience. 

He had been reckless, dangerously so. Perhaps that was why he felt compelled to speak with his old mentor--Dooku had always been the first to call Qui-Gon a fool when necessary.

_And when unnecessary_. Qui-Gon smirked, looking down at his boots. His stomach squirmed, and he shook his head, chuckling. _By gods, I am fifty-eight years old. Besides, he isn’t a Jedi anymore._

The thought brought with it a melancholic shock. He was not quite accustomed to thinking of Dooku as a private citizen. When he pictured the man, he saw an imposing figure in a dark cloak, saber gleaming at his belt. 

“Sir Jedi?” The guard interrupted, “Do you require entrance?”

Qui-Gon smoothed his hands down the front of his robe. He released a slow breath. “Yes, thank you.”

\-----

He was shown to the lifts, and stepped inside the transparisteel tube, where instrumental music played softly as he ascended. Another guard was waiting when he exited, and he stifled an instinctive swell of judgement. He could not blame Dooku for enjoying the comforts afforded him by his family’s vast fortune. The man preferred the finer things, even when he was a Jedi. His private rooms at the Temple, mostly a mystery to Qui-Gon in his youth, had been filled with rare wine, expensive art and handbound books. Qui-Gon remembered those few occasions when Dooku permitted him to study in the living area, and Qui-Gon would make sure his materials were arranged neatly on the polished tabletop, and tried not to make too much noise. He stole glances at the decor, indulgent compared to the spare walls of other Jedi. In fact, when he was in those rooms, it was not like being at the Temple at all. Sometimes, Dooku would pull out one of the books, and sit beside Qui-Gon, reading aloud in his deep, precise timbre. His voice could be something very close to soothing, when it was not intimidating. Or terrifying. 

Qui-Gon moved down the corridor, illuminated by antique sconces, and felt his jaw begin to unclench. Whatever tension that remained between them, Dooku was not unkind. Qui-Gon could trust the man to hear him out, and act with discretion.

Qui-Gon sorely needed both. 

He arrived at Dooku’s door and pressed the chime. 

\----

He was surprised to find Dooku answer, rather than a servant. His heart quickened. Qui-Gon cleared his throat and bowed, both out of respect and habit. “Master.”

Dooku was dressed in his usual attire, from cape to boots, despite the late hour. He was not the kind to greet a guest in sleeping robes, though Qui-Gon doubted the man had been sleeping. As a child, there had been times he doubted his Master slept at all.

He had also thought his Master’s eyes looked like drops of black ink, pupils disappearing in the surrounding pools, eyes that reflected more than they ever revealed. Dooku smiled. “Well, Qui-Gon, this is unexpected.” 

His former Master looked no older, but more severe; deeper curves cut into the lines of his long face. His white hair was combed back, a few dark strands at his temples serving as reminder of the formidable man he had been in his prime. He was trim, yet took up the entire doorway. 

“Forgive me for imposing, my Master,” Qui-Gon apologized. He knew nothing to call him but the same honorific he began using when he was a new apprentice. And he had never said Dooku’s first name in his entire life, could not imagine how clumsily the syllables would fall from his mouth now. 

Dooku’s smile widened, revealing a wide row of perfect, white teeth. “It is good to see you. I may have moved on from the Jedi, but that does not include you, my old Padawan.” He clapped Qui-Gon on the shoulder, “Though I assume the purpose of this spontaneous visit is not to reminisce about our glory days traveling the galaxy?”

“Ah, no.” Qui-Gon admitted. His tunic was already sticking to the sweat pooling in the small of his back. On with it, Jinn. “Rather, I’ve come to beg your advice, Master.”

The dark eyes softened. Through the Force, he sensed a fleeting ripple of pleasure from Dooku, albeit tightly controlled. Qui-Gon burned with guilt--he had not meant to avoid his Master for this long. “Of course, you are welcome to my counsel at any time, Qui-Gon,” Dooku said, and stepped aside with a slender, beckoning hand. 

Qui-Gon walked over the threshold. The room was modest in size, and tastefully arranged. Dooku maintained that the mark of true wealth was understated luxury. He detested gaudy embellishments, the nouveau riche who wore a ring on each finger, signalling a _“distinct lack of breeding”_. 

Dooku’s boots clicked with measured precision as he crossed to a small bar table. “I doubt I have anything you’ll like,” his fingers ghosted over the bottles of liquor, “I remember your penchant for the humbler imbibements.”

Qui-Gon smiled. As a Padawan, those barbed remarks imbedded themselves into tender flesh. He would nurse the wounds for months, until he finally adapted, and learned to galvanize himself against backhanded comments. Now he could appreciate the man’s caustic brand of wit. 

Well, mostly.

“Anything you have would be appreciated,” he said, glancing at the stylishly spare furniture, dark leather and buffed silver. Truth be told, he had never felt at ease in his Master’s quarters. He imagined himself as a wild bantha led into a gallery, tracking mud and fur across a pristine space not meant for him. Of course, a Jedi was supposed to be comfortable anywhere, and in his life Qui-Gon had slept in more palaces than he could count. 

Dooku poured wine into two goblets. “I was gifted this bottle by the Lankashiir premier. An exceedingly rare vintage. It is only fitting that it be enjoyed during an equally rare _occasion_—a visit from Qui-Gon Jinn.” He walked over to the lounge area, and handed Qui-Gon a goblet. 

“Thank you.” Qui-Gon accepted, leaning his nose toward the rim and taking a gentle inhale, as he had been instructed to do early in his apprenticeship. 

They remained standing. Dooku lingered over the wine, closing his eyes. “Both to be savored.” He remarked, in such a quiet tone that Qui-Gon barely heard him. 

Qui-Gon had not visited when Dooku relinquished his place in the Order. He had not visited in the months after. Qui-Gon swallowed. “I am sorry. My responsibilities—“

“Of course,” Dooku waved a dismissive hand, “No one understands more than I how a Master is kept busy. Now sit. It’s late and you’ve come a long way, and I doubt it’s to offer me belated apologies.” 

Qui-Gon settled on the slim couch, Dooku in a chair.   
He had come here of his own accord. But Qui-Gon was seized by regret. Some things were better off unspoken. Dooku had left the Order, yet how could Qui-Gon be sure the man wouldn’t divulge secrets to the Council? To his own former Master, Yoda?

Qui-Gon cleared his throat. His fingers sweat around the glass and he took a stalling drink. 

Dooku lifted a brow and sighed. “Well, out with it. Who wants an unexpected guest who just sits and gapes at them? It’s rude, besides.”

Oddly, the chastisement eased the words locked up in Qui-Gon’s chest. He put his wine down and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He looked down at his boots, at the lush carpeting beneath them. “I would ask that what I tell you remain between the two of us, my Master.”

When he chanced another glance at Dooku, the dark eyes were steady, curious.

“Of course, Qui-Gon,” Dooku said. “As you know, I have severed many ties, but none with you. Anything you say to me will be kept by me.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Thank you, Master.” He almost felt like an apprentice again, confessing contritely before his mentor, hoping for understanding, or at least mercy. He took a breath. “I have misstepped with Obi-Wan. Badly.”

“Ah yes, the mysterious Obi-Wan Kenobi. From what I hear, he is an excellent student and candidate for Knighthood.” Dooku raised a brow. Silver had all but usurped the black hair Qui-Gon remembered from his years beneath Dooku’s wing. The former Jedi wore silver well, the cold glint of it suiting him. “I only know what I hear, of course.”

The strike was subtle, like a small silver blade between two ribs. Qui-Gon had been ready for it and was only grazed. During their rare meetings, Obi-Wan’s absence was an awkward subject to be addressed and overcome swiftly. “We are so—“

“Busy, yes. Naturally. What Master and apprentice are not?” Dooku drawled. “I trained my share of Padawans and still found the time to visit my old Master. He would have battered my shins if I had not.”

Qui-Gon’s lip twitched. “I am fortunate to have such an understanding Master.”

Dooku snorted, sipping more wine. His fingers were long and elegant. 

Qui-Gon wondered how they had ever been a team. _Beyond opposites_. 

“And I am lucky to have a Padawan who does not shame me for eschewing the Order. Although you have always been a tad unorthodox, so perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised.” Dooku’s smile was wry, almost warm. “I suspect you’ve outdone yourself this time, Qui-Gon. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you looking this...undone.”

Undone. It was the perfect word. The blade sharpened, hit home. _Undone_. “I do have the reputation of an outsider, Master, since my Knighting. I never understood why, when I have only ever followed the will of the Force.” He laced his fingers together, but would not allow himself to drop his eyes, meeting Dooku’s waiting gaze. “It is only recently, after these...missteps, that I realize I have sometimes twisted that will to meet my own needs. My own wants.”

“A wise observation.” Dooku intoned. “There is not a Jedi, living or dead, who has not suffered the same folly.”

_Out with it. Out with it, coward_. “But most Jedi do not betray the sacred bonds of teaching.” Qui-Gon forged on, “Most Jedi have not…”

Dooku blinked. He set his glass down carefully and leaned back in the leather chair, studying him. “I see,” he said softly. “When you said you and Padawan Kenobi were busy, I assumed you meant with missions and training, Qui-Gon.” 

He rubbed a hand across his face and felt the hot flush of his cheeks. “I wish that were the case, Master.”

“Ah, but you yourself said you twisted the Force’s will to fulfill your own wishes. Do not compound your sins now by lying about their roots.” 

Qui-Gon wondered how much shame he could endure, before he threw himself from the balcony. Already he had spent weeks in private anguish, walking the Temple listlessly, failing to meditate. Just being near Obi-Wan was a complicated torment. Seeing the braid swinging from behind his right ear was akin to the swinging of a noose. 

“Nor should you compound them by wallowing in melodrama,” Dooku warned, “Most Jedi do not stray from the path as you have, but it is not _unheard of_, either.” He smoothed his black robes. “I assume one of your Padawan’s many skills is discretion. To be clear, I am not interested in details concerning his other skills.”

Qui-Gon would have laughed if he was not mired in burning guilt. “I am not worried about that. I know he would not…” he struggled to maintain even a facade of detachment, immediately failed, “He is very devoted.”

“Of course he is. Forgive me, since I am unfamiliar with the boy. How old is Kenobi.?” 

_Boy_. Another stab. Qui-Gon breathed. “Twenty three.”

“Old enough to know he should not bed his Master, then.”

Protectiveness surged in Qui-Gon, though he was uncertain whether it came from his position as mentor or lover. “He is not to be blamed.”

“So you instigated this...affair?”

He thought of Obi-Wan, after the disastrous Zurdalla mission. How he had stayed in the shower until his skin was scrubbed raw and red. Those grey, needful eyes. His grown apprentice had come to his room and asked to sleep with him. 

Qui-Gon had thought he meant to just lay beside him, and told Obi-Wan _yes_, and held the warm body that pressed against his own, beneath the covers. 

But then Obi-Wan asked for more. He had been bare beneath his cloak, and trembling, and whispered things Qui-Gon never dreamed of hearing from him.

_Please Master_

_Please_

He could still taste the first kiss. It had lingered on his lips for days, the taste of desperation, arousal, other things no one else had tasted from Obi-Wan Kenobi. When his Padawan asked again, Qui-Gon did not hesitate. He took Obi-Wan each time he asked, and then suddenly he did not need to ask at all.

_Oh Obi-Wan_

They continued their training. Assignments. But with a new undercurrent of lust. Dooku was right about Obi-Wan’s discretion; Qui-Gon was the one who came _undone_, his senses scattered by the unforeseen development. On Teris, he pinned Obi-Wan against an alcove, had him there, in the middle of the day. __

_ _Later, he glimpsed the rash on Obi-Wan’s pale buttocks, from being scraped along the alcove’s rough duracrete. Qui-Gon had awoken from the months-long reverie then. _ _

_ _He had hurt his Padawan, without noticing. Obi-Wan had not stopped him. _ _

_ _They needed to stop. _ _

_ _“I did not prevent it,” Qui-Gon answered at last. “He was vulnerable. I knew it was wrong.”_ _

_ _Dooku nodded. “Then I trust it was a singular lapse?”_ _

_ __Damn. Damn damn damn it. _Qui-Gon chuckled, hoarsely and humorlessly. “It seems I am unworthy of trust, Master. He has spent...many nights with me.”_ _

_ _“Very devoted indeed. But it has all been, ah, consensual?”_ _

_ _Qui-Gon straightened at the shift in questioning. “Of course. I would never—“_ _

_ _“I’m sorry, Padawan. You have done little to convince me of your moral righteousness tonight. Though I figured, given your nature, that you wouldn’t harm a pet cause. Kenobi is one of your strays, isn’t he? You plucked him from Bandomeer right as he was to begin his Agricorps career, as I recall. Back when you spoke to me with _some_ regularity.”_ _

_ _Qui-Gon focused on relaxing his jaw. “That’s right.”_ _

_ _“I always wondered what it was about young Kenobi that shook you awake from your self-induced catatonia following the Telosian’s betrayal.”_ _

_ _Xanatos. A longer, more wicked blade._ _

_ _“I suppose now I understand. You saw something...worthwhile in the lad. At least you waited for him to ripen first.”_ _

_ _Qui-Gon held onto his anger, but it still seeped free, like a plump red fruit, squeezed in a fist, juice running from the cracks between fingers. “It isn’t like that. He is—“_ _

_ _“Twenty three,” Dooku finished, “His body, honed by your own hands, your own instruction. And such a devoted student. What a relief it must have been for you both.”_ _

_ _Qui-Gon did look away then, seeking the bland backdrop of books and modern decor. He focused on an empty, square vase. So unlike Obi-Wan, with his warm curves, his full heart. Dooku was right again. He had felt soothed by their lovemaking, every orgasm an exhale, each exploration of bodies the ticking of a box. “It is that which worries me, Master.” He was already totally exposed by his own honesty. He had nothing more to lose with this man. “I ache for him, constantly.” It was a relief, too, to say it aloud. _ _

_ _Dooku repositioned himself in the chair, finally seeming uncomfortable. _ _

_ _Qui-Gon reached for the core of peace in the Force, drawing from it so that he could continue. “He does not leave my bed once we are finished. I want him with me there. And he…” He knew he sounded vulnerable, voice made tender just by the memory, “He told me he loves me.”_ _

_ _“A young man of twenty three loves everyone. Do you remember being that age, Qui-Gon? Or was it too long ago?”_ _

_ _“I remember,” Qui-Gon said stiffly, “I was nothing like Obi-Wan. He is—“_ _

_ _“Remarkable, yes, so it would seem.” Dooku’s lip curled, as if the entire situation had become quite entertaining, “Anyone with sense could assume he would grow even _more_ remarkable in a few years. After he’s been Knighted, perhaps.”_ _

_ _The suggestion was not a new one; Qui-Gon had tried to convince himself, again and again, that they could wait. Surely with time, the fervency of their feelings would cool. “That is why I’ve come to you. I find myself unable to behave properly. I know the correct actions to take, but I have not taken them.”_ _

_ _“You are at war with yourself, Qui-Gon. You are losing the battle against your own desires.”_ _

_ _Qui-Gon dropped his head in his hands and nodded. He knew as much. _ _

_ _“The problem being, of course, that your feelings, and young Kenobi’s, are entirely natural. But the Jedi will never admit that. The Order is too deeply entrenched in the old ways. They have spent a millennia pretending that we are not beings made of flesh, and so _remarkable_ Jedi like yourself and your Padawan are needlessly tormented and punished.” Dooku stood, and moved to sit beside Qui-Gon._ _

_ _Qui-Gon, quietly shocked, looked at his Master’s hands, one of which had come to rest on Qui-Gon’s knee. _ _

_ _“It is for those reasons, and many more, that I could no longer sit idly by. There is much good to be done in the Universe, Qui-Gon. Progress to be made, without the shackles of Jedi hubris and an outdated Code.” Dooku’s dark eyes were intense, but somehow softer, even compassionate. “I know you have questioned your place in the Order before.”_ _

_ _Qui-Gon bowed his head. _Tahl_. When he had loved her, when he had lost her. Just the idea of losing Obi-Wan… “I have,” he admitted. _ _

_ _“As did I, on numerous occasions, before finally taking the necessary steps.” _ _

_ _He didn’t make the journey across Galactic City expecting to hear this. He had wanted reprimand, anticipated that Dooku’s typically sharp judgement would shred his lingering hopes. But he had not considered—no, he could not leave the Jedi. And he would never raise the idea with Obi-Wan, who was born to be a Knight, whose veins pulsed with the Force. _ _

_ _“While I respect your decision, Master—“_ _

_ _“You needn’t say anymore, Qui-Gon.” Dooku smiled. The skin around the corners of his eyes wrinkled, and he looked, very nearly, paternal. “I am merely sharing with you my own experiences. We all walk our own paths. But tell me, do you feel your path, and young Kenobi’s path, are the same?” _ _

_ _He had wondered over the future, when Obi-Wan had fallen asleep in his arms. He wondered, and then worried, once it became obvious that their connection transcended physical compatibility. “I cannot imagine my life without him.” Qui-Gon said. Just speaking the words made him feel sure of their truth._ _

_ _He loved Obi-Wan. It was why he made love to him. Why he could not stop._ _

_ _Dooku stroked his beard. “I see.” He stood and turned to Qui-Gon. “You know what the Council will do, if they were to discover what you’ve done.”_ _

_ _Qui-Gon swallowed. “I have—“_ _

_ _“You will be expelled from the Order.” Dooku said bluntly, “If Kenobi is spared that fate, he will still suffer the stigma of a disgraced Master. He will always be improper, in the eyes of the Council. Untrustworthy.”_ _

_ _He could not bear to think of Obi-Wan treated like an outcast, for Qui-Gon’s sins. His chest ached. “I will stop this. No one will know. I will talk to Obi-Wan…”_ _

_ _“If he loves you, as you say, then how long do you think he can deny his feelings?” Dooku released a heavy breath. “I’m sorry to suggest it, but perhaps the best course of action would be to assign him to another Master, citing some invented reason.”_ _

_ _“No.” Qui-Gon stood, instantly. Everything inside him rebelled at the thought. “That isn’t an option.” _ _

_ _Dooku reached out and gripped his shoulder. “I do not aim to be cruel, Qui-Gon. Quite the opposite. It is imperative to you both that this situation is dealt with in a realistic manner. So,” he looked into Qui-Gon’s eyes, “what is it that you want?”_ _

_ _Qui-Gon had not seeked out the comfort of his Master in many years. Decades. He had learned early on in his apprenticeship that Dooku was wise, skilled, but professionally aloof. He felt the reassuring weight of the man’s hand. Undone, yes. “I do not want Obi-Wan to suffer, Master. I want…”_ _

_ _Him. Just him. Nothing else. _ _

_ _“We have grown apart, Qui-Gon, but there was a time I knew you as well as anyone could.” Dooku intoned softly, still gripping his shoulder, and gazing at him with those eyes so black they appeared pupiless, “I see the storm inside you. The Jedi teach us to fear the storm, to turn away from our emotions, when those very emotions can be our greatest strength. Passion needn’t be a weakness. And you needn’t be a Jedi to serve the Force.”_ _

_ _Qui-Gon glanced away, out at the night sky, the city where, miles in the distance, Obi-Wan waited for him. He found it was difficult to speak. “He would go with me, if I left.” He knew it, like he knew the sun would rise tomorrow. _ _

_ _ _And I would damn us both._ _ _

_ _ _We are damned either way._ _ _

_ _Dooku handed him his glass of wine. Qui-Gon drank deeply._ _


End file.
